I love artists. I love working with them. I love seeing what they do in their own fields and being blown away by talents that are so different from my own. In fact, I’m often jealous of artists–especially so in the visual arts. With a writer, it might take hours of reading to know if they’re deeply skilled, much less gifted. With visual arts, it’s instant. No fair! But something I’d not considered before I started my own journey was how my work might inspire art.
Below is a list of ten (only ten?! how do I choose?) pieces of Lightbringer art I’ve particularly loved over the past ten years.
With great difficulty, I narrowed down my list to 27. Oops. So then I sought advice, and gave bonus points for things like work in a different medium, or a unique perspective. (There were enough awesome tattoos alone that I could have crowded this top ten with those!)
Artists, thank you for what you do. Everyone else? Enjoy!
Idris Elba-inspired Ironfist, created by Tim Hoffman for the Nine Kings Card Giveaway. This was one of the few I saw with Ironfist in his ghotra. I love the intensity Tim captured here.
Kip, by @avacairen in 2016. I always wanted Kip to be a visually striking figure. He’s a multi-ethnic kid who feels like an outsider, but by belonging to no particular satrapy, he somehow can belong to all of them. Here I see a Kip who’s finally–finally–coming into his own and becoming a force to be reckoned with.
Andross the Red Nine Kings card by Shea Britton. I love the style of this one–and also love seeing young Andross. Look at that nice young man! He’s just got a world of possibilities before him.
Kip v Kylar tattoo by Rob Zeinog, on Evan Ennis. Here, Evan and Rob edged out some other wonderful tattoos by having both Kip AND Kylar. Hey, play to the judge, right? Great work.
Cruxer & Ben-Hadad by Oliver Elm, @flyboy_elm on Twitter. One of the joys of writing Lightbringer was getting to spend time with the Mighty. Watching them crack heads, crack jokes, and bust each others’… limitations was a joy. Love the attention to detail in this one, too.
Nine Kings card by Elly, @elly_mii on Instagram. A deceptively simple style here, capturing the essential lines of the character while hinting at Orea Pullawr’s gravitas. Orea sees what you’re trying to get away with. It’s not going to work.
Found on the Brent Weeks fan page on Instagram, @kylarguile; Mist Walker by @aryencyph. Given how Teia’s magic works and what it does to one’s eyes, it’s not easy to portray Teia using her power as being anything other than spooky. Aryencpyh captures a sensitivity–even a woundedness–here. Plus the art style is really different. Love it!
Janus Borig by Cyndy, @reiyeka on Instagram. Cyndy has consistently done some of my favorite Lightbringer Art. I posted this one because Janus Borig is one of those characters that walked onto the page and stole my heart. I wish we could’ve spent more time together, but then I… ahem, well. Not ME. But, you know, someone did that thing that made it so she couldn’t.
Possibly the oldest entry, this is Gavin by Xoujji and was posted in 2015. There are a lot of ways you could depict Gavin Guile. This captures some of the happy arrogance of the man early in the series. Ah, Gavin, you have such beautiful self-confidence. Be a shame if anything happened to it.
This is the first of the 14-page character sheet for playing a Drafter in D&D 5e. Dylan Rainville put this together by building upon a previous iteration in 2017.
I’m not certain if all the art is original–because there’s a LOT here, and it’s all really good–or if some of it is repurposed, but the adaptation that handily earned this one its place on the list is the incredible amount of work Dylan put in to translate a drafter into a playable D&D class. I haven’t play tested it myself, but this looks totally legit. Very, very impressive.
You can also check out another version of the Drafter character class (not as thorough as Dylan’s, but still interesting), posted to the D&D Wiki HERE.
Artists, you’re amazing. You bring me and others joy by creating such beautiful, winsome, quirky, and original work. Keep bringing your visions to the rest of us. We need you.
Oh, and I’ll do my best to bring you new cool things to imagine in the next ten years.
We have notified the winners of the contest, and we’re here to showcase the five winning entries! There were nearly four dozen entries, each brilliant and beautiful in their own way. A warm, heartfelt thank you to everyone who submitted.
Please note there are SPOILERS for all Lightbringer books in the images below.
Our grand prize winner is Ellen Archer, with “Shimmercloak”:
Every year, Goodreads runs an awards competition. Basically, Readers’ Choice Awards. I’ve been a finalist before (thank you!), but as Goodreads has tweaked which books are counted into which genres, it’s gotten significantly more difficult for my kind of work to land on the list. When hugely-popular crossover writerslike Nora Roberts (400 million copies sold!) show up in your pool of competitors, a win simply isn’t going to happen.
Which is fine. Ms. Roberts works incredibly hard and has earned every fan she has.
Additionally, this year, THE BURNING WHITE published just a couple weeks before the end of the eligibility period. And as you may have noticed, THE BURNING WHITE also happens to be a rather lengthy novel, so it didn’t surprise me in the least that I didn’t appear on the longlist.
But then something happened that did surprise me.
Some of you wrote me in.
ENOUGH of you wrote me in that I made the Semi-Finals–despite not even showing up on the longlist!
Very, very cool. Thank you.
Now, two things: one selfish, one not. First, I’m not winning this thing regardless, but it WOULD be sweet to be a finalist again, especially if Joe Abercrombie isn’t.
Second, even if you don’t vote for me (which is totally fair, so long as you don’t vote for Joe), the list is a great place to find books that OTHER readers are loving. Not just in fantasy, but in all genres. So it’s worth clicking through to find some great books for your TBR pile–and look up readers’ reviews of ones that sound interesting.
This round of voting ends Sunday, November 17, so check out all the Semi-Finalists HERE. And thanks again.
Here are a few different ways for you to (hear/see/read) the half-hour talk I gave while on THE BURNING WHITE tour. We’ve uploaded the audio recording here (polished by Craig Hanks from The Legendarium Podcast), as well as a written transcript below. There’s also a video of the talk I gave at Mysterious Galaxy in San Diego on my YouTube channel. It’s kind of like a choose-your-own-adventure, but the adventure is pretty much the same in each medium.
Without further ado:
On Ending Well
I’ve put you into the heads of a lot of extreme characters over the years: the leaders of magical orders, assassins, emperors, rebels, prisoners, and… chubby ursine turtles.
today I aim to do something far more challenging: today, for the next 29
minutes, I want to make you a mild-mannered, bespectacled… demi-god.
this point, I put on my reading glasses… or spectacles, if you will]
took me from age thirty-one to forty-two to write the Lightbringer Series, and
for a good chunk of these eleven years I’ve been working on how to end it well.
So today I’m going to talk about endings: first an author’s experience of an
ending, then the reader’s, and then what we might learn from those.
you’re an author of epic fantasy, cruising down the story-telling freeway. 85
miles per hour… 95… 110…
push the car to its limiter.
a younger writer, driving a 1993 Acura Legend out on the empty plains of
Eastern Montana, the car starts to get squirrelly at about 120 miles per hour,
but the limiter doesn’t kick in 135.
story. Yes, I was young and stupid once.
I am no longer… young.)
But now with some experience under your belt, you’ve traded up. Learned a few things. Now your narrative daily driver is a new 750 horsepower Porsche Taycan.
you’ve picked up some skills over the years. Beginnings? You can jet off the
starting line better than most. Frankly, you might not be best in the genre at beginnings,
but you’re good enough to enable your middles: Now, many writers hate middles,
hate middle books, despise what they call “the middle muddle”.
tend to get lost. They take wrong turns.
you. This is where you and most epic fantasy writers shine.
you at the wheel the engine roars as it climbs the narrative peaks, growls
through the downshifts as you enter the curves–and it sings as you come flying out of the
twists. You are the master of the road, weaving through plot-complication
traffic with ease, hopping from Point-of-View to Point-of-View like a stuntman
leaping from car to car in those cinematic masterpieces: The Fast and The Very Angry.
then you see it.
always knew it was coming. It shouldn’t be a surprise.
you hadn’t quite realized it would look so… daunting.
after the next mountain pass, straddling the road, stretching from the east to
the west, high enough to blot out the sun:
the wall, emblazoned in fire: two words. THE END.
of your passengers yells, “Woohoo! I can’t wait!”
You have passengers now? Where’d they come from?
that’s right, you picked up your readers’ hopes and expectations somewhere
along the way. Maybe… maybe you made some rash promises about your
you let people assume things: like that a trilogy would have only three books.
they assumed that since you were so good at beginnings and middles that surely
you must be equally good at endings.
at this point, you don’t have a whole lot of choices. You can…
Stop the car in the middle of the road and pretend it’s normal and of no
concern that that black smoke is billowing from the engine.
There’s a choice B: an off-ramp: write more sequels!
uh, I’m gonna take us through those mountains,” you say, “We’ll come
into that ending from a much better direction.”
This not only buys you time, it has the added advantage of maybe even being
I wrote the first draft of Lightbringer 4, it was over 1600 manuscript pages
long–and that WAS the short version.
You don’t want to write the short
version. A mere 1,600 pages? What are you, a writer of Cliff Notes?
You are a successful epic fantasy writer, and you don’t climb molehills, you climb the continental divide, tires squealing on Going to the Sun Road in Glacier Park, drifting around hairpin turns, frightening pedestrians into leaping from the cliffside road at your perilous passage.
to Falling Pedestrian] <Sorry! I was willing to sacrifice you for my art!>
all, if you were happy with leaving rich valleys of conflict unexplored, you’d
have simply taken an airplane to your destination, rather than driving through
the mountain passes five times.
But, whether you add two books or eleven, The End
you’ve written “the end” before–after each mountain peak. But an
ending, and The Ending are categorically different. An ending aims
at only partial reader satisfaction. An end of an epic fantasy book in the
middle of its series is working perfectly if the reader says, “That
was great… but I still really wanna know…”
The End is different.
if you do add more books, you shouldn’t be too surprised when your passengers
start asking, “Are we there yet? You aren’t lost, are you?”
seems now your Porsche Taycan has morphed: into the still-sporty Tesla Model X.
How’d that happen?
you did keep picking up quirky hitchhikers, then let them navigate for a
chapter or two, and eventually they became Point of View characters.
well, you added so many subplots, you had to make that stuntman’s leap over
into one of those 15-passenger Mercedes Benz vans they call a Sprinter.
(A name that proves, contrary to popular belief, that the Germans do appreciate
with your expertise and sheer guts, you get some surprising handling out of
that sucker, but the margin for error shrinks.
to get off to a quick start with a novel late in the series? Not so fast,
bucko. Some fans have just read (or re-read) the previous book. They’re
ready to go! But other fans haven’t read that book in two or three years!
They’re gonna need an on-ramp to get them up to speed.
if you start slow to let those kids find their seats and buckle up, you just
know the other kids are gonna get bored–and you do not want bored kids on a
school trip, flinging Cheez-its at each other’s heads and making fun of the
somehow now you’re now driving a souped-up school bus down the last mountain
pass. This is one bad-A bus, but it’s still a bus: A bus crammed full of readers bouncing up and
down, kicking the seats, some of them staring in completely the wrong
direction, as if you promised to drive them to the moon rather than the verdant
plains of the ending.
and now that you look around, you’re not just driving a bus: Now you’re leading
an entire race team. You need to get them all to the finish line at the same
time. Every subplot has to matter to the main plot, every character you
introduced with such reckless joy in the last 1.4 million words needs to show
that they were there for a purpose. Everything needs to be addressed–not
necessarily tied up in a neat bow, but acknowledged, and done so in a manner
that makes sense chronologically, relationally, logically, emotionally,
thematically–and also puts the right characters in the lead when you finally
cross the line.
intellectual effort of weaving everything together in the final book is like
taking the SAT.
days a week. For three years.
as you get the team in order, making sure everyone’s in their places–you may
also see that your readers have somehow blurred themselves into your
we read a good book, first, we’re drawn into a scene. By degrees, we trade our
reality for the book’s reality: the feel of the chair under us, the
slightly-too-cold air of the room we’re sitting in, the weight of the pages in
hand or the pixels on the screen–they all disappear as we come to stand in a
new world, surrounded by new people.
just by itself is a marvel.
with certain books, the ego dissolves further still: the reader doesn’t simply float like a ghost
observing a wonderful cast playing make-believe together; instead, the world
becomes real, and the reader becomes friends with the characters. Their
thoughts and emotions blend with each other’s. In a way, they become the
characters, maybe identifying more with this one or that, but the reader’s soul
expands to hold new personalities, new ways of thinking, new ways to grow.
now you’re driving a bus filled with readers’ hopes and with their very souls.
And you’re driving… At a wall.
characters are staring at you. They know.
you hit the ending, some of them may die. And all of them are going to be put
on ice. Maybe you’ll revive some of them someday in a sequel–but, what
are the odds? They know, no matter what, for them things will never be the
ending is their end.
are part of you, and your adventures together are almost over.
readers understand what’s coming, and don’t want it: You get emails
saying, “Can’t you just write these books forever?” or “How
about seven books, or nine! That’d fit the colors, Brent!”
not wrong. There are ten thousand ways to write a finale, and maybe twenty that
could be satisfying. Some of those satisfying ways would require seven
books, or nine–but if you change the plan, you’ll have to make the trade-off
that some subplots will have to get padded or even ignored for a book or so.
you’ve seen this: the main character shows up in the first scene, and then
disappears until the last scene? Or a book gets split into half of the Points
of View, with the other half not coming until years later?
sounds like I’m throwing shade. I’m not. When a series grows in length and
complexity past a certain point, it gets to where certain things are impossible
because of the structures of fiction and human psychology itself. You don’t
blame a bus driver for not being able to pull wheelies or split lanes or park
in a space six feet wide.
some point, there are simply trade-offs that must be made–and those get
exponentially more difficult after you pass a million words and seven or so
fully-developed point of view characters.
reader may have a different perfect potential ending in mind. Many of those are
literally impossible–but even out of all the possible satisfying endings, you
can only deliver one.
a Domino’s delivery driver, you’re going to race up to the party, and someone’s
going to open the pizza box and grunt: “When I told you on the phone to
surprise me, I didn’t mean add olives!”
else will say, “I know I never mentioned I needed it, but this is gluten
Someone else: “Ugh. Cheese? On a pizza? This is Portland, man!”
you, writer, are fearless. You will not pad your novel. You will make the
tradeoffs that you judge to be the best, even knowing some backseat drivers
will criticize them no matter what.
So you swerve past the stopped busses of those authors whose nerve or art has failed them, you roar past the burned-out wrecks of series that ended poorly, and with everything in you shouting defiance, you ram into that wall: The End.
an explosion here, and not everyone survives.
no longer, “Maybe this extraneous detail will make all the
difference” there’s no more, “Maybe this bloated section is actually
the lynchpin to the whole thing!” there’s no more, “I hope we get
lots of pages with this character, they’re the best!”
no more “I really think the author ought to–“
more “This character really ought to–“
is no more ought. There is only is.
hands are off the wheel.
characters are finished. Alive or dead, well-served or ill-used, their time is
away from imagining you’re the author now, and imagine your future self reading
the end of this series or some other.
the reader, are thrown clear in the blast, your soul ripped away from the
temporary fictional minds and bodies you inhabited for so many hours.
people call this the book hangover. I think it’s worse than that.
I think it hits particularly hard in a series that’s being written as we read:
As we read an ongoing series, we see the characters change, and as the years go
by, we’re changing, too.
In a very literal way, many of us grew up with Harry Potter.
this is a kind of bereavement: The characters STOP, and reader has to go
on without them. What consolation is there in this:
[dumb voice] “Your make-believe friends aren’t dead, you can re-read! Cherish your memories!”
don’t want to cherish old memories of my friends; I want to make new ones with
is why we mourn the end.
soul rises from this dead paper on the operating room table, and in the burning
white light of the book afterlife…
the burning white–who wrote this?!
the plain old regular white light of our book afterlife, we can at last see the
whole story revealed, and therefore judge the whole.
our first questions after we finish reading might be technical and trivial:
“Did we ever learn what the one woman did?”
that one guy get here?”
this line mean that these two are going to get together someday?”
at some point, most of us give ourselves permission to feel.
we enter a mystery.
for a few precious moments, we stand on holy ground as we grieve, grapple, and
things come together here: the author’s skill, the reader’s skill, and Truth.
criticism engages only one leg of a tripod: how well did the author write? It’s
a worthy question, if a limited and simplistic one–I say we have to add at
very least “for whom” to that question. T.S. Eliot is going to fare
poorly if you judge it as children’s literature–oddly, most kids just can’t
make head or tail of the sections written in Sanskrit. Similarly, you’re really
going to have to stretch it to write a dissertation on Dr. Seuss–though now that
I say it, I’m just sure some sad sap out there has written a paper casting HOP
ON POP as a post-structuralist attack on the patriarchy.
as a professional, I spend the bulk of my time worrying about writing well–for
all sorts of different audiences, simultaneously.
there’s a second leg: how well did the reader read? And this isn’t always a
question of intelligence or education. A critic who has to review a hundred
books a year can easily get bored working through ninety-nine Grim-dark Gore
Festivals, or ninety-nine Dystopian Young Adult Novels with a love triangle and
a bland heroine—thus it can be easy for that critic to fall into valuing
novelty above all else–even if the one novel novel out of a 100 kind of
stinks in many respects.
Or a certain literary style may simply not be in vogue: The highly intelligent and learned members of Nobel Prize committee rejected Tolkien in the early 60’s, saying that the Lord of the Rings quote, “has not in any way measured up to storytelling of the highest quality.”
that kind of tragic cephalorectal insertion isn’t the only reason one can read
When I was a child, I hated the ending of The Lord of The Rings.
don’t get me wrong: I read those books over and over. I loved them.
as a child, I could tell it was by design that Frodo couldn’t go really back to
the Shire. Ultimately, he couldn’t even stay in Middle Earth! He’d won the war
but was scarred forever by it, even crippled; the end felt tragic rather than
I DIDN’T LIKE IT ONE BIT.
fantasy was telling me truths about war and suffering and sacrifice, and
I rejected it–because I didn’t like the truth.
why did I re-read?
of the third leg of the tripod: there actually are fair criticisms to be made
of Tolkien’s narrative choices, and my own reading skills had a lot of maturing
to do, but his story resonated.
calls unto deep. Something in those pages was true and beautiful.
this saying that if you want to teach someone how to spot counterfeit $100 bills,
you don’t show them a bunch of different counterfeits to study all the little
errors possible; you have them study the real thing closely. Then when you show
them the counterfeit, they’ll just be able to sense that something’s not quite
was me with Tolkien. Tolkien was the real deal. I would read him, then go to
some other fantasy author, often get that sense of encountering an imitation
rather than the thing itself–and then I’d go back to Tolkien, bummer ending
when you judge a book or a series, I’d encourage you to listen to your intuitions.
They’ll tell you if you’ve encountered a counterfeit, even if your mind can’t
quite tell what’s wrong.
you finish a story, what do you want for these characters you love? Maybe
justice? Or perhaps justice mixed with mercy. Maybe a lot of mercy. But not too
much–it’s gotta feel like those characters did their part, like what they did mattered.
it’s too tidy, too easy, we reject it. It doesn’t feel real.
someone might point out that that’s kind of a funny objection: A make-believe
character doesn’t feel real?
just because it’s make-believe doesn’t mean it’s not True.
listen to your whole self when you close a book. Listen to what happens inside:
you were pleasantly surprised by that twist, or maybe you saw it coming from
miles away–but either way, after you think about it for two seconds, you can’t
imagine the characters would have been surprised. The author’s skills
failed–or maybe they just got lazy.
maybe the ending is clever, or edgy, or original but it infuriates you. It
satisfies your head, but not your heart. The author didn’t give you what you really
wanted deep down, or maybe what they had to tell you isn’t true.
maybe the ending was happy, but the characters didn’t really earn it.
The author gave you what you wanted, but not the way you wanted it. Maybe
what you wanted for these characters doesn’t ring true with what they’ve done
or who they’ve been.
maybe–as happened to me with Tolkien–an author will tell you an unwelcome
truth. You might have to make peace with it. You might come to say, “I
hate that this thing happened to this character because I love her, but it
really is the only way it could’ve worked out.”
you’ll nod your head even as you purse your lips. “Yeah. This character suffered
cruelly all the way through, but in the end…”
it interesting how much value we place on how a story ends? How the ending shapes
our judgment of the entire work?
tells his best friend, “There’s a divinity that shapes our ends,
rough hew them how we will.”
whether we believe there’s a divinity or not, most of us would like it
to be true that someone out there cares about our story as much as we care
about the stories we read.
does it mean that we seem to structure our own messy lives into stories?
Mom, tell me the story again about how you met Dad.”
will you tell us one of your war stories?”
man, tell me that one again about the chihuahua and the sleeping pills.”
tell other people stories about ourselves, and we even tell God stories about
like twenty-eight hundred years ago, a guy named Nehemiah wrote out part of his
own life’s story, probably with his own hand, and he stops the narrative to
throw in this aside to God. He says, “Remember me… my God, and do not
blot out what I have so faithfully done…” He’s got his quill, writing,
and he uses the term ‘blot out’ as if there’s an ink blob on the page.
understanding his own story as if there’s an Author, and he’s saying, “Hey!
God! Look, even if I’m a minor character in this drama, can you please tell me
that what I’ve done matters?”
Tell me I’m not a redshirt.
even tell ourselves stories about ourselves.
of you might have one that goes like this:
that terrible thing happened to me when I was a kid. It wasn’t my fault, but it
screwed me up for ten years. Even after I knew better as an adult, it still
screwed me up in year fifteen and sixteen and eighteen, but in year twenty, I
finally kicked that thing to the curb. Now I’m starting a new story, and things
will be different for my kids.”
incident, setbacks, climax, resolution. The end.
your story goes like that–good job! Congratulations. That’s a great
its ending matters. I wouldn’t want anyone to judge you before they get
to that resolution.
we want in our fiction: what we want for these characters we love, what we hope
the Author/demigod gives them is nothing less than what we hope for ourselves,
in real life: Will the universe notice that I made good? Will God blot me out,
and delete my meandering little subplot? Or is He shaping my end, despite all
this rough hewing I’m doing?
a series ends, our egos that were dissolved in the narrative will float
back to our own lives. We will put ourselves back together; we will go on.
a story isn’t written well, if we don’t read it well, if it doesn’t feel true, then
it isn’t going to become part of us.
there’s nothing there to wrestle with, nothing that pushes us or pulls us away
from where we’re standing right now, then it won’t move us.
won’t change us.
We’ll happily close a second-rate beach read and say, “Ah! I’m so happy that Frump Girl ended up with that hot young billionaire! Wouldn’t that be nice if things really happened like that? [*sigh*]
Okay, what’s for dinner?”
Lightbringer, I have dared more.
isn’t worthy of the name unless the tightrope is suspended, netless, over a
chasm of possible failures.
admit, here at the end, that what I brought to the pages of the Lightbringer
Series may well have been more Ford Taurus wagon than Porsche Taycan, but I’ve
taken my jalopy and put the pedal to the floor.
haven’t only pushed my characters past breaking; I’ve stretched my own skills
to their limit, and I’ve come to the end of myself.
to bring you light, at times in writing these last two books, I have literally locked
myself in my office, lights out, with blackout curtains drawn and only a
computer monitor to illuminate the room to help me focus for sometimes fourteen
hours a day, sometimes seven days a week.
healthy. Don’t recommend it.)
times, I wondered if these books were going to cost me my marriage. I’ve lain
awake at three am with chest pains radiating down my arm, trying to convince
myself this was just a panic attack–but wondering if writing this book was
literally going to kill me.
have given everything I have to write a series that, to be frank, has many
imperfections–but it also carries all my skill, all my courage, all my passion,
and all my joy.
story has been part of me for many years now, but now my time with it is
with fear and trembling, but also with faith and excitement, I hand it over to you.
will come to this story’s end in a few weeks, or perhaps only days or…
if I have wrought well and you read well, this story won’t die.
In mysterious ways, it may live on, integrated
into your story in the way you Turtle-Bear your way through a season of
suffering, in the way Karris’s fierce faith inspires you to keep fighting, in
the way you get back up one more time after you’ve failed again and again, in
the way you take one courageous step toward reconciliation with someone you
has been a terror and also the highest privilege I can imagine to be given the chance
to make something beautiful and true for you.
Well friends, the tour is winding down, THE BURNING WHITE is being devoured by readers around the world, and Halloween is days away.
It really is the most wonderful time of the year.
Today we have an interview for the Author Stories Podcast, recorded last summer and released a few days ago (I know, I know, we’re a bit behind, but hey, it’s a small price to pay to meet 1,000 fans out on the road).
I KNOW. It’s because you’re looking for directions to one of the bookstores hosting the White Hot Book Tour, right?
Wrong AGAIN? Dangit!
Is it maybe because you want details regarding the NINE KINGS FAN ART CONTEST?
Oh! Well why didn’t you say so?
We are hosting a contest, right here in our tiny corner of the interwebs, for one month. Design your favorite Nine Kings card from any book in the Lightbringer Series, and email your submission to us. The grand prize will include your Nine Kings card design on the back of a custom deck of standard four-suit playing cards, and a stack of debut novels from Orbit’s 2019 New Voices. (WHOA!)
ONE (1) Person will receive:
A standard four-suit playing card deck with their winning design on the backs of the cards
A signed copy of THE BURNING WHITE
A stack of awesome debut novels from Orbit’s 2019 new voices:
The Gutter Prayer by Gareth Hanrahan
Velocity Weapon by Megan E. O’keefe
The Rage of Dragons by Evan Winter
The Unlikely Escape of Uriah Heep by H. G. Parry
The Ten Thousand Doors of January by Alix Harrow
Queen of the Conquered by Kacen Callender
FOUR (4) Additional People will receive:
A signed copy of THE BURNING WHITE
An exclusive Lightbringer t-shirt of your choice (design choices will be shared in the next few days)
1. Entries may be submitted starting TODAY (Tuesday, October 15) until SATURDAY, November 30 at 11:59pm Pacific Standard Time (PST).
2. Each entry must include:
An image file (JPG or PDF; no layered files please) showing your depiction/interpretation of a Nine Kings card from Lightbringer
Your contact information
Please make sure the email subject includes “NINE KINGS FAN ART”
3. International entries are allowed and encouraged!
4. Image may be digital, hand-drawn, or some combination thereof. A life portrait or photograph interpreting a card is also allowed.
5. Keep it PG-13, artists. (This means no graphic depictions of violence or sexuality. So if you’re considering “The Butcher of Aghbalu,” be mindful of our audience, please.)
6. You may submit multiple entries, but note that you can only win once.
7. Please email your submission(s) to the Dread Pirate CAPSLOCK, admin @ brentweeks [dot] com.
8. The winners will be chosen at random, by me.
9. Other: You must be 18 or older to win (younger participants are welcome, but by law we can’t give you a prize). No purchase is necessary. Odds of winning are based on the number of entries, but definitely higher if you submit. We will notify winners via email. You must respond to our notification within 7 days, or another winner will be chosen. That would be sad for you. They’d be happy. So maybe the net happiness would be neither increased nor decreased. We could try it out if you win.
10. Winners will be announced on Tuesday, December 10, 2019.
HERE is a nearly-complete list of cards mentioned in one or more books in The Lightbringer Series.